


every day your last

by orphan_account



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mentioned Character Death, prophine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble series: Delphine after Cosima's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She's still in Frankfurt when she receives the news.

 _Cosima is dead_.

 

It's a week later when Rachel shows up at Delphine's door. She's wearing glasses, eyeliner, a wig, but she's still so recognisably _herself_ that the effect is merely ridiculous, bordering on offensive.

"What do you want?" Delphine asks, impatient.

"To help you, of course," Rachel answers, and Delphine knows perfectly well that the only person Rachel has ever wanted to help is herself, but she sighs, steps back, invites her in.

"Come on," says Rachel, dropping into a passable imitation of Cosima's accent. She gestures, but her hands are stiff, the movements studied.

Delphine kisses her anyway.

 

Rachel's head is between Delphine's legs, and she's as technically skilled at this as she is at everything else, but there's no passion to it, no _warmth_ , no ardour.

 _Cosima_ , Delphine thinks when she comes, but she's careful not to say it aloud.

 

"I want you to come back with me," Rachel tells her, after. "I need you with me."

"Why?" asks Delphine.

"Because," Rachel says, deliberate, "I need you with me."

And Delphine could refuse, or at least _try_ to refuse but she's not strong enough, she knows. Not anymore.

"Fine," she says, shrugging, lying back on the bed, and Rachel nods, pleased.

She pauses for a moment. "You'll get past this… _feeling_ ," she says, her distaste for the word more than obvious.

"Sure," Delphine says.

It doesn't matter.

There's nothing left.


	2. Chapter 2

Rachel stays the night, and Delphine watches her as she sleeps. She's taken off the wig, the glasses, but her eye liner is still pristine and perfect, arching into elegantly winged curves at the corners of her eyes.

She appears to be _slightly_ less guarded in sleep, somewhat more relaxed, but not a significant amount, Delphine notes, recording the observation vacantly, automatically, as if Rachel is just another experiment, an inanimate object to be studied.

Rachel stirs, frowns in her sleep, murmurs almost indistinguishably, but Delphine could swear she hears the word _daddy_ , perhaps _family_. Delphine holds her breath, listening, but there's no more.

Grief isn't something Delphine is particularly experienced with, and she's reasonably certain the only way she's going to survive is if she becomes as removed, as _detached_ as possible. She thinks of her old self, the one willing to lie, to deceive, to do whatever was required in the service of what she thought was _knowledge_. 

Before Cosima, before Delphine's heart was opened, exposed and trembling and wonderful, glorious in ways she never conceived possible.

Before she found a better reason, the purest, most rational motivation. _Love_ , she thinks now, and with Cosima gone, the word is merely abstract, a concept that no longer has any true meaning.

_Sister_ , Rachel whispers, her body twitching restlessly in dreams.

Delphine watches, wakeful.


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, Delphine packs a bag, and they take a car to the airport. There's a private jet waiting for them, and Delphine doesn't hesitate, following Rachel on board, seating herself quietly next to her.

She sips at a glass of champagne, and when she's done, she puts her hand on Rachel's thigh.

"Please don't touch me," Rachel says, her voice perfectly, icily even, not glancing up from the papers she's reading.

Delphine doesn't say anything, but she doesn't remove her hand, waiting to see what Rachel will do. It's a risk, yes, but it's not as if she has anything to lose. There's nothing that can be taken from her, not anymore, so she slides her fingers slowly up Rachel's leg, under her skirt, skin smooth under her touch.

Rachel stays silent, but Delphine can hear her breathing speed, only slightly at first, but then faster, deeper, as Delphine goes further, stroking down inside Rachel's underwear, feeling her dampen, swell, soften underneath the touch.

Rachel never turns, never looks at her, but she closes her eyes, lips trembling, slightly parted, and when she comes, she exhales loudly, a short, sharp _ha_. Her shoulders rise and fall, her hips jerking, and then she's still. 

After a moment, she opens her eyes, the mask already back in place. "Thank you," she says, and finally turns her gaze towards Delphine, the faintest hint of contempt in her expression. "You'll do well at your job, it seems."

"And what _is_ my job?" Delphine asks. 

"Why," says Rachel, eyebrows raised a little, bemusement so feigned it's utterly transparent, "you're my monitor, of course."

"Ah," Delphine replies, bitterness rising inside her, a metallic taste in her mouth. She looks away, stares straight ahead, ready. "Of course."


	4. Chapter 4

It isn't so bad, Delphine thinks, not really. She has her research, though it's essentially exceptionally well-funded busy work, and an apartment, with Rachel.

 _Rachel_ , who is not a simple or pleasant person to be around, not ever, but perhaps that's what Delphine _needs_ , someone so _difficult_ that they don't leave her time to think, to dwell on the past, on what has been lost.

Every night they have unsatisfyingly mechanical sex, and while they both come, sometimes more than once, it never fails to leave Delphine feeling _empty_ , hollowed out inside herself, a vacant space inside her chest where she could swear her heart is supposed to be.

But there's nothing there.

And while she might be aware that Rachel is still concerning herself with clone-related business, Delphine makes a very deliberate point of _not_ knowing what is going on. She files her reports with various faceless doctors, keeps them appraised of Rachel's current state of mind, her health, but no more. No more than she has to.

 

One night Rachel's at a function, and Delphine has begged off, claimed to have a headache, desperate for some time alone at home, but there's a knock at the door, loud and insistent.

For a second or two Delphine thinks it's Rachel, disguised again, but no, this isn't Rachel.

"What the bloody _hell_ do you think you're doing, Delphine?" Sarah says to her. "Shacked up with fucking _proclone_?"

"It's not..." Delphine starts, but Sarah doesn't allow her to finish.

"Is that all she meant to you?" Sarah shakes her head, patently disgusted and it's no more than Delphine deserves. "She's dead and _this_ is what you've moved on to?"

"I..." Delphine doesn't know what to say, how to make Sarah understand. She doesn't understand _herself_ , so instead she pushes Sarah up against the wall, kisses her roughly.

Delphine is sick of _words_ , and this, this is better.

 _Easier_.


	5. Chapter 5

Sarah isn't gentle, and while Rachel isn't either, this is _different_ , Sarah is different, anger and spark in her every movement, her hands on Delphine's body graceless and impatient.

She moans when Delphine touches her, need so unashamed it makes Delphine shiver with desire.

This is all she wants, just to forget.

Sarah's on the bed, legs wide as Delphine licks at her, stopping, starting, bringing her to the edge and back, over and over just because she can, sitting up and finishing her off with fingers, wanting to _see_ , Sarah's hands clawing at the sheets, her body rising and falling, chest heaving as she comes down.

When she speaks, her voice is bitter, cynical. "Another clone notch on the bedpost, right?"

"You think the worst of people," Delphine says.

"Yeah, well." Sarah pulls her t-shirt over her head. "Saves time."

" _She_ never thought the worst of people," Delphine says softly,

Sarah stops, looks at her, gaze fierce and certain. "She was the best of us," she says, and it's clear she's absolutely, utterly sincere.

"Yes." Delphine swallows hard, steadies herself. "She was."

Sarah picks her jeans up off the floor, shakes them out. "You going to tell me what Rachel's up to?"

"I don't know what she's up to."

"Can you find out?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, _try_."

And Delphine's so _tired_. Of this, of all of it, every last thing. "Why?" she asks.

"Because Alison's sick," Sarah says, the slightest tremor in the words. She turns, walks out of the room without looking back.


	6. Chapter 6

Delphine lies awake for a time after Sarah leaves, and while she knows she should get up, change the sheets, shower, she doesn't bother. Eventually, she falls into a fitful sleep, dreaming of DNA and genetic markers, a laboratory filled with identical Cosimas who look up at her and smile, wide and open as they say, "I love you."

When she wakes, feeling groggy and dazed, Rachel's sitting on the end of the bed, as perfectly made up as ever, not a strand of hair out of place. " _Her?_ " she says.

Delphine sits up, hugs her knees to her chest. She shrugs, not answering.

"How many of us is that now, Delphine?" Rachel asks. "Three, if I'm counting correctly."

Delphine shakes her head, says, "You're so much alike, you and her." 

"Me and _Sarah?_ " says Rachel, incredulous, and when Delphine nods, the effect is almost instantaneous, Rachel's face contorting with rage, _ugly_ with it, painted red lips twisted into a grimace, her eyes wild.

She lunges, hand raised to slap Delphine, but Delphine grabs her wrist, holds it tight, listening to her breathe, pulse shuddering under Delphine's grasp. And it's almost no effort at all to pull her down on to the bed, straddle her, pin her hands above her head. It's _far_ too easy, and Delphine leans down, kisses her, full and deep.

Rachel's arms flex and strain but Delphine holds her tight. 

"Tell me to stop, Rachel," she says. "Tell me."

But Rachel only closes her eyes, turns her head away,

She doesn't say anything.

Delphine doesn't stop.


	7. Chapter 7

It's better like this, Delphine thinks. It's probably not _healthy_ , of course, but she's surely past caring about such things, and it's _interesting_ , at least.

Rachel is, it turns out, more complicated than Delphine ever would have suspected.

Delphine locks the door of her lab, says, "Come here." 

And Rachel walks closer, slowly, step by step, her heels clicking on the floor. She always has an air of slightly condescending put-upon-ness about her, as if she's merely humoring Delphine, indulging her, but Delphine knows better now.

She's _learned_ , these past few weeks.

"Bend over the desk," she says, curtly. "Lift up your skirt."

Rachel regards her for a moment, making a show of _considering_ the request, but they're both well aware it's nothing more than that: a show.

She settles herself down on the end of the desk, raising her skirt unhurriedly, shifting her feet apart so she's spread wide, open for Delphine to see, and she's wet, so wet, already.

Delphine runs her fingertips up the back of one thigh, tracing light and careful over the curve of her ass, feeling Rachel's skin twitch and shudder under the touch.

"I want to go back to researching the… illness," she says, not certain how to phrase it, cognisant of the delicacy of the situation.

"No," Rachel replies, unhesitating.

"It needs to be done."

"There's a team working on it."

And Delphine didn't know _that_ , but she doesn't let it dissuade her. "Then the team need me."

Rachel pauses before she answers. "I'll consider it," she says.

Delphine nods to herself, hand moving between Rachel's legs, two fingers stroking over her clit before she pushes them inside, _heat_ like something extraordinary.

"Say 'Fuck me'," says Delphine, her voice lower.

Rachel shifts, huffs out a small, indignant breath. "Fuck me," she says, almost perfunctorily, but Delphine knows her well enough now to distinguish the arousal beneath the facade.

She's been waiting for this opportunity, building up to it, having finally reached the point where she can be reasonably certain what's going to happen, that this _will_ give her an advantage. Still, it's a risk. But she holds her nerve. "Say 'Fuck me, _daddy_ '."

And Rachel's reaction is immediate, suddenly tight around Delphine's fingers, every muscle tensed, her breathing audibly rapid and deep, and Delphine can tell she's right on the edge, but she's going to keep her there as long as she can.

"Say it," she repeats, and _yes_ , because she _knew_.

Rachel whines, a high, needy sound, and when she speaks, it's so softly that Delphine can barely hear, but the words are distinct. " _Fuck me, daddy_ ," she says.

Delphine smiles, satisfied. "You're such a good girl," she says, "aren't you, Rachel?"


	8. Chapter 8

"It seems you're more perceptive than I ever gave you credit for, Dr Cormier," is all that Rachel says, after.

"And the research team?" Delphine asks, careful to erase any hint of eagerness or anticipation from her tone.

"I said I'll consider it." She looks at Delphine, as collected as ever, but Delphine's _seen_ now, and she knows what's churning underneath the polished exterior, the turmoil restrained only, it seems, by sheer force of will. "I'll talk with the relevant people," Rachel says. "Perhaps you can start in a week or two."

And Delphine nods, because that will have to do for now.

 

That night, when they're both preparing for bed, is when it starts.

Rachel's in the bathroom, and Delphine hears it, the sharp, hacking cough, so familiar she can barely breathe at the sound of it.

She knocks on the door, careful, and when Rachel doesn't answer, she opens it, sees Rachel, who is standing, frozen, staring down at the pristine white basin spattered with red. There's panic in her eyes, desperate and uncontrolled, and a small smear of blood at the corner of her lips.

Delphine's first instinct is to walk away, leave, because there are things she doesn't ever want to be reminded of, doesn't want to remember, but she steadies herself, wetting a washcloth and using it to wipe gently at Rachel's mouth.

Her other hand comes to rest on Rachel's shoulder, gentle and unthinking, and she can _feel_ Rachel flinch, but she doesn't back away.

And Delphine tries not to think about the fact that this is the very first time she's ever touched Rachel in an ordinary, casual, non-sexual way, _willing_ herself not to let it mean anything, but it doesn't matter. "It's okay," she says, the lie bitter in her mouth. "It's going to be okay."

She rinses the cloth, swirling the water in the sink to wash away the stains.

"Well," says Rachel, calmer now, "I suppose you should start with the team somewhat earlier than planned." She looks down, jaw visibly tensed. "Tomorrow, if that would be convenient for you."

"Yes," says Delphine, softly, "I think that's a good idea."


	9. Chapter 9

It's difficult, watching Rachel's decline. Delphine ticks off the milestones in her mind, each symptom building upon another, the measured, endless deterioration. The pattern is familiar as an ache, every change a reminder of what came before, and the pain inside Delphine is loud and bright, a blade swallowed clean; sharp inside her no matter how hard she tries to dull it.

She's taken charge of the research team, pushing everyone involved, pressing them to work to their limits and beyond, and they're making progress, _excellent_ progress, but Delphine knows it won't be in time.

Not for Rachel, not for any of them.

"I don't want you to treat me any differently," Rachel tells her. "I don't want you to ever feel _sorry_ for me."

"I don't feel sorry for you," Delphine says, and it's the truth. 

Rachel smirks, weakly, her face pale. They're in her office and she's not well today, Delphine can see.

"Don't you want to fuck me?" Rachel asks. She stands, walking towards Delphine, her gait wobbling and unsteady. "Daddy," she whispers, eyes black and blank as she falls to the floor.

Delphine immediately sinks to her knees, lifting Rachel's head, calling for help, and there's a medical team in the room within minutes, calmly and quickly efficient as they examine Rachel, then lift her on to a gurney, take her away.

Delphine's left there, alone.

Rachel's laptop is still open, and Delphine glances around, careful, before she steps behind the desk. She doesn't even look at what's on the screen, that lesson learned forever, but she downloads as many files as she can, emails them to herself.

She's just finished when Rachel's assistant appears. "She's asking for you," he says, as impassive as ever.

"Of course," Delphine replies. "I'll be right there."


	10. Chapter 10

"What's this?" Sarah asks as Delphine hands her the flash drive.

"Rachel's laptop," Delphine answers, and Sarah shakes her head.

"We can't trust any of this," she says. "What's even on it?"

"I don't know." Delphine sits back in her seat. "I didn't look at it." 

Sarah chose this meeting place, some out-of-the-way diner with sticky tables and tired-looking waitresses. The coffee is appalling, but Delphine takes a sip anyway.

"How's Alison?" she asks.

"Not bad," Sarah says. "Considering." She looks down for a moment before she goes on. "I hear Rachel's sick?"

"Yes," Delphine says.

"And?"

"She's not so good." Delphine turns her coffee cup so the handle is facing towards her. "The research is getting closer," she says, trying to sound positive.

"But not close enough?"

"No, not yet."

Sarah nods, and neither of them speak for a minute or two, but there's an _edge_ to Sarah's demeanour, something she wants to say, wants to _ask_ , Delphine can tell, so she waits, observing.

Sarah runs one hand through her hair, glancing at the door as she says, "There's a hotel next door." She looks back at Delphine, meeting her gaze, almost defiant, challenging. "It's pretty dodgy, but I got us a room."

And it's not a question, but Delphine still says, "Yes."


	11. Chapter 11

"Wouldn't you rather be at home?" Delphine asks.

Rachel looks up from the bed, the skin around her eyes an ashen grey colour, an oxygen cannula draped over her face, fixed under her nose. The room is white, sterile and impersonal as a hospital.

"This _is_ my home," she says, a laboured breath audible between each word. "This is where I grew up."

Delphine nods. "We're finding some promising results with the stem cell cultures, and…"

"Don't," Rachel interrupts, and Delphine is silent, patient until she goes on. "I always thought I was _special_ ," says Rachel. "I wasn't like _them_ , I was _different_."

"You _are_ different," Delphine tells her, and Rachel looks at her.

"I know you don't mean that as a compliment."

Delphine smiles. "Not really, no." Rachel seems so _small_ now, frail and wasted, cheekbones sharp under her skin. 

And perhaps it's self-indulgent, foolish, but Delphine inhales, deep and slow, then climbs on to the bed, lying down beside Rachel. The mattress is stiff and unyielding beneath her, but she turns on to her side, draping one arm over Rachel's body, careful not to let the weight rest on her fully, aware of how weak she is.

Even someone like Rachel shouldn't have to die like this, alone.

"You know," Delphine says, quietly, "Cosima once told me that if I loved her, I had to love all of you."

"You're saying you _love_ me?" Rachel's voice is so incredulous Delphine almost laughs.

"No," she says. "But there are parts of you that were part of her." Delphine shifts her head on the pillow until she's more comfortable, sighs softly before she continues. "You all carry each other inside of yourselves."

"Perhaps," says Rachel but she doesn't sound convinced.

"You should rest, now," Delphine says. "We both should rest."

"Yes," Rachel agrees, and she places her hand over Delphine's, the feel of her skin cold, faintly damp.

 

When Delphine wakes, Rachel is unmoving beside her, quite still, and Delphine doesn't bother to check for a pulse.

She knows.

She heads down to the lab, where everyone has left for the day, and gathers as much information as she can, papers and back-up drives and whatever else has been left unsecured. She labels the package _Sarah Manning_ , care of Felix's address.

She doesn't go home. She doesn't have a home, not anymore, not for what feels like the longest time. 

Not since Cosima.

 

She takes a taxi to the airport, her passport in her purse beside her, her _real_ passport, not the one that says _Delphine Cormier_.

She could almost believe that this has all been some particularly vivid dream, but that's merely wishful thinking.

Cosima will never leave her, she knows, will always be with her, but the rest of it is over.

It's finished.


End file.
